


And Fools Smile On

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean-Centric, M/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-16
Updated: 2006-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean smiles.  And smiles, and smiles, and smiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Fools Smile On

"Oh, aren't you a _handsome little boy_!" Mrs. Perch coos, bending down to grind his cheek between two of her bright pink fingernails. "And is this your little brother?"

Sam ducks behind Dean and who can blame him? Dean feels like his face is going to be aching for a week. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbles, like Mom taught him, looking down at his shoes. The shoelace on one of them is untied, but his bows aren’t as good as ones Dad ties and Dad's not around.

"Your mama up there in Heaven must be so proud of the two of you," Mrs. Perch says, hands on her wide flat hips and Dean feels his blood run hot and then cold. He knows what to do, though; Dad's been coaching him, ever since Mrs. Perch started coming around from Family Services.

Dean smiles.

***

"Hey!" The girl from behind the register comes flying at him, all long swinging arms and swirling blonde hair. Who knew she had it in her, he thought, ducking her long acrylic nails. "I saw you, you no good dirty bastard! You put them cupcakes back or I'm calling the police!"

Dammit. It's Sam's birthday, and they're flat busted on money, at least until the next credit card comes through, or Dad finds some pick-up work. Cupcakes wouldn't have been much, but Sammy should have _something_.

So Dean does the only thing he can. He turns on the charm and he smiles.

***

"But Dad, the playoffs are _tomorrow_!"

Dad sighs, deep and long-suffering. "I know, Dean and I know how you've been looking forward to this, but I don't have time to argue with you. This thing's been killing people."

His hands are clenched so tight he can feel the blood oozing under his fingernails from the cuts they made in his palms. But he's a good soldier. He nods, not trusting himself to actually _say_ anything.

Dad eyes him narrowly, like he's waiting for something and then he nods and pats Dean on the shoulder. "Good man. Now go pack up your stuff and help Sammy with his. I want wheels down in an hour."

_"Tonight?"_ Dean yelps. Then, when Dad's expression changes to thunderous, he makes himself say, "Yes, sir."

He's walking away when Dad calls after him, "Dean."

Dean turns. "Sir?"

John sighs. "Tell you what. After the job's done, we'll drop Sammy off at Pastor Jim's for a couple days and go bow hunting, just me and you. You can work on your tracking. How's that?"

Dean smiles.

***

A week. Dad's been gone a week.

Poltergeist in Amherst, he'd said. Won't take long, he'd said. Be back before you know it.

"I'm hungry," Sam whines, rolling on his back and rubbing his tummy as if to demonstrate. "Let's order pizza."

"We don't have money for pizza," Dean snaps, turning away from the window. The curtains are drawn, but if he stands off to one side, he can see through the gap between the curtain and window frame. "And besides, you know the rule. No delivery when Dad's not here."

"We could go out and get some," Sam says, sitting up. "I'm bored anyway."

"Don't you have homework or something?" Dean's fingers tap out a rhythm on his thigh. There's a song in the back of his mind, one of Dad's old songs. He can hear the guitar and the drum, but the words won't come.

"I did my homework." Sam comes to stand next to him and starts to twitch the curtains aside. Dean slaps his hand, harder than he meant to. "Ow!" Sam snatches his hand back, looking hurt. "What's your _problem_ , Dean?"

Bad Moon Rising. That's it. Little bit of Creedence running through his brain. He tries not to read too much into it. "My _problem_ , Sammy, is _you_ ," he retorts. He walks off towards the little kitchenette. "C'mon, I'll make you dinner."

He's fumbling with the matches, trying to get the wonky burner lit when Sam comes up behind him and puts his arms around Dean's waist, his cheek lying right against Dean's shoulder blade. "Don't be scared, Dean. Dad'll be home soon."

Dean's stomach tumbles and rolls. "I'm not scared," he denies. "I know Dad'll be home soon." He turns around, Sam's arms opening just enough to let him before Sam's plastered against his chest. "See? Not scared."

Dean smiles.

***

"Dean?"

Oh God. He was having a great fucking dream too. What the fuck? "Sam?" he mumbles, grinding his hand over his face, scrubbing his eyes. "What's up, dude?"

Sam doesn't say anything, and Dean cracks his eyelids to see Sam looming over his bed, arms wrapped around his shoulders, gilded alternately yellow and then red by the light of the Chinese place across the street. Oh fuck. "Another dream?"

Sam nods. Dean sighs and scoots to the inside of the bed, throwing the blankets back. Sam wastes no time in sliding in next to him, clumsy with the new height he's been picking up. "Ow, Jesus, fuck, Sam!"

"Sorry," Sam says sheepishly, turning on his side so he's facing in towards Dean.

Dean waves a hand. It was a long ass day and he's burnt. "Just go to sleep."

Sam wiggles and sighs and wiggles some more, hogging way too much of the bed and pillows. Dean closes his eyes and tries to fall back into his dream. "Hey Dean?"

Dean opens his eyes and finds Sam _right there_ and he's got about half a second to take it in before Sam's soft-dry lips are on his, awkward and inexperienced and sort of not-good until Dean's head shifts or Sam's does and then suddenly it goes from _huh, kinda weird_ to _really fucking hot_ in about two seconds. Dean's tongue sorta kinda slips over Sam's lips and into Sam's mouth and Sam lets out this sleepy-contented _sigh_ , like he does when he's having a really good dream and suddenly it hits Dean all over again with the _weirdbadwrong_ and he pulls back so fast he hits his head on the wall, maybe cracking the plaster. "Ow!"

The light's good enough that he can see Sammy's eyes, wide and kind of freaked out. "I'm sorry," Sam says. "I'm sorry, I…"

Dean puts his hand over Sam's mouth to shut him up, aware of how long the kid can go on without a bit of firmness. "Shut up," he says, not unkindly. "It's fine, Sammy; it's no big. Quit freaking out, okay?"

Sam nods and makes a muffled noise that Dean chooses to interpret as yes. Dean sighs and flops back on the mattress, his head aching and his cock really aching for some up close and personal attention. Which…Dean doesn't even want to contemplate.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We okay?"

Dean turns his head and gives Sammy the full wattage of his grin. "Yeah, kid; we're just fine."

***

"Well, I guess that's it, then," Sam says, looking blankly around the room like another box of his stuff is suddenly going to appear.

"Guess it is," Dean says, lounging against the doorjamb and cleaning the grit out from under his nails with his penknife. He just finished puking up the last of last night—this morning's--drunk and his stomach's still pretty sour. Sun's barely up and he's already got his sunglasses on. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

He hoists the bigger of Sam's two duffels and the small taped and retaped box of books and carries them down to the car. He swears he can still hear Dad's snores from the street. They cram Sam's stuff in the back and Dean drives through McDonald's for coffee. Sam gets one of those bagel sandwiches and the smell of it makes him want to puke all over again.

They don't say anything all the way to the bus depot and it's all too soon before they're standing there awkward and weird on the tarmac, watching the driver load up the luggage. "So," Sam says, rocking back and forth on his heels. "How hungover is the old man, do you think?" His grin is weak, but he's trying.

Dean chuckles. It sounds rusty and sort of fucked out, like he spent all last night screaming his head off at the airport, where it couldn't be heard. Not that he'd do any such thing, you understand. "I think he's still going to be drunk when he wakes up, tell you the truth," Dean says, and scratches his nose. _And probably'll start drinking all over again,_ he thinks, but he knows Sam knows and there's no need to say it. Not between them.

"All right. Well." Sam's hands are shoved in his pockets, he's looking down at the ink scribbled toe of his sneaker. _Sam Winchester sucks out loud_ , it says, remnant from their last prank war.

"Yeah," Dean says. "All right. Well. Seeya 'round, kiddo, huh?" He squints into the rising sun.

"Yeah," Sam answers dully.

Dean turns around and gets less than half a step before Sam's hand is tugging at his sleeve, turning him around and pulling him into some totally sissy hug. And Dean's only holding on so he doesn't fall down, see, cause Sam's really put on that upper body strength in the last little bit. And then Sam's mouth is brushing over his, fast; so fast it might as well as been nonexistent and Sam's whispering in his ear, "Be okay, Dean. Really. Like…be happy for me and fucking take care of yourself. Be safe. Be real safe."

And Dean nods, all numb and shocked out. He puts his arms up and shoves Sam away a little bit and Sam lets him but he's still got that hangdog look going on. So Dean says, "I'm not the one you gotta worry about, little brother. I'm going to be just fine."

And he smiles.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ comm 60_min_fics in June 2006, with a song prompt of "How to Fight the Loneliness" by Wilco.


End file.
